


Chicken Soup

by oldeyes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Author-kids-you-not Fluff, F/F, Fluff, super fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldeyes/pseuds/oldeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aden falls sick as he trains vigorously with Lexa. Ridden with guilt, the Commander takes it upon herself to nurse her young mentee back to health. She recruits the help of a certain medical apprentice from Arkadia in hopes of learning a thing or two about how to care for a child with the common cold.</p><p>Or,</p><p>Clarke and Lexa attempt to make chicken soup. Wanheda has a ball of fun and Heda cries over skinless onions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken Soup

**Author's Note:**

> First story on here! Oozing with excitement and so your author has advantageously turned it into a fluffy 1600-word fluff. Enjoy!

Lexa is a strong and fearless leader. She wears the title of _Heda_ well, bringing about a time more peaceful than any other hedas had in the past. (But of course, this is notwithstanding the unpredicted arrival of people from the sky. Lexa handled the situation pretty well, if she should say so herself.) With black tar smeared across her face, she enters wars ruthlessly and exits them triumphantly. She can wield a sword (or two, but that would be bragging) with her eyes blindfolded and still win battles against the best warriors of Trikru, taking no longer than three minutes before her opponent inevitably surrenders in defeat. She can get cut 100 times but still manage to maintain her composure. She is feared, but she is also well-respected, trusted, and most importantly – loved.

However, Lexa is not a nurse.

Before you get the wrong idea, Lexa is able to dress a wound quite well. From broken bones to open gashes, her extensive knowledge on Grounder medicine has saved the lives of hundreds of warriors on the battlefield. The problem here lies in the fact that the Commander lacks any prior experience in treating the common cold, much less when it comes to young children.

With Aden falling ill after spending an entire week training and travelling to different coalitions with Lexa, she cannot help but feel responsible for the boy’s wet nose and raging fever. She promises to tend to him until he gets better, and so returns back to Polis to become Aden’s caretaker.

Unlike her usual troops of men and women, Lexa cannot exactly tell her patient to “suck it up.” (It does not sound any nicer in Trigedasleng.) It also dawns on her that colds cannot be treated with wooden splinters or gauze, nor would it be wise to feed a sick 14-year-old boy crushed-up herbal painkillers. For now, Aden sleeps uncomfortably in his bed as Lexa watches over him, somewhat dumbfounded for the first time since the whole Pauna incident with Clarke.

Clarke! Lexa has sent Anya off to Arkadia to recruit the blonde for her medical expertise, but mostly because she is the only person the Commander trusts enough to aid Aden. On the other hand, her pride is at stake – Titus had advised her to continue visiting the rest of the coalitions in lieu of returning just for the sick Nigthblood, and Lexa will simply not allow the _Fleimkepa_ to say, “I told you so, Heda.”

Titus is already irritated by the Commander’s decision to offer Skaikru a seat at her table, after all. He will definitely have a field day if Lexa does not keep the situation at bay.

Wiping the sweat beads off of Aden’s forehead with a wet towel, Lexa rises from the bedside and seeks solace in her own room. She makes her way onto the balcony and looks over the bustling hub over forty storeys below her, her brooding thoughts and anxiety eating away at her patience. Why is it harder to care for a sick child than a bleeding soldier? What is taking Clarke so long? How does one make chicken soup with limited cooking abilities?

And as if on cue, her girlfriend saunters in through the doors. “Lexa, Anya says you need me urgently?”

“Clarke,” Lexa’s face softens and she relaxes her jaw, her arms opening to engulf the blonde in a much needed embrace. _Finally_. “Next time, I’m sending a horse for you.”

“I have a horse. You _gave_ me Wilbur, remember?”

“White horses have always been slow; that’s why I prefer ones with dark coats. Black, mostly.”

“Did you really make me ride all the way from Arkadia to have a conversation with you about horses?”

“Right,” Blushing slightly from Clarke’s cocked eyebrow, the apprehension washes over Lexa almost instantly. “Aden is sick.”

Again, the questioning brow is raised. “From what Anya has told me, he has the cold. And?”

“ _Ai na fis em op._ ”

“Don’t you have designated healers for that?”

“I trained him too hard and because of that, he has fallen sick. Now I must suffer the consequences of my own actions and heal him.”

“You are so dramatic sometimes, I swear.” Clarke chuckles softly as she shakes her head, still unsure whether her amusement is born out of the entire matter at hand or the serious look on Lexa’s face. “Well, what do you need me here for, especially since you’re supposed to be his nurse?”

The blond detects a little scrunching of the nose on the Commander’s face, the latter shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She has never seen her heda look so out of place. “I am trying to make food for Aden, but he doesn’t seem to have the taste for anything from the stalls below.”

“What? Who wouldn’t want to eat rabbit stew and fried dragonflies?”

Lexa ignores the sassy remark, pausing shortly before finishing her sentence. Despite Clarke somehow finding glee out of this situation, the Commander sees no humour in the fact that her most promising mentee is sweating profusely and sniffling endlessly in his bed. “Will you teach me how to make chicken soup?”

“Well, first thing’s first: do you have a large cooking pot by chance, Heda?”

* * *

It turns out that most pots and pans had been smelted and casted into weapons in the past, and so Clarke finds herself plopping a whole five-pound chicken into a cauldron of boiling water. Grateful that none of her friends are around to witness this rather tragic event, the blonde instructs her clueless sous-chef to add a pinch of salt into the black vat. If anybody is to walk into the room right now, they may just very well be mistaken for witches.

(Raven surely will not have let Clarke live this moment down.)

For someone who has mastered the poker face and wielding swords larger than herself, Lexa has never appeared more confused and exasperated than right now. Somehow she has already gotten her sleeves wet and almost slicing her fingers off twice before Clarke banned her from touching the knife again. Ironically, being able to harpoon an Ice Queen does not necessarily mean that you can cut bits of fat off of a chicken.

“Is it safe to eat a radioactive chicken?”

Lexa pauses, looking as if she is seriously considering Clarke’s question for a second. “I mean, I’m fine and so are you.”

“Wait a minute, you’ve fed me radioactive chicken?”

“Technically it’s meat from a wild boar, but yes.”

“Oh dear god, if another head pops out of my shoulder, my radioactive mutation will be on you.”

“Just because the boar had two heads doesn’t mean you will grow another as well.”

“Wait, two _what_?”

Of the whole evening, Clarke finds watching Lexa peel onions the most entertaining. With tears in her eyes, the Commander huffs and grunts in annoyance as more well up due to the vegetable’s sting. Unknowingly, she brushes her finger across her right eye to wipe the wetness off, but only resulting in burning it even more. Completely defeated and very much angered, the Commander drops the onion back into the tub and washes her face with a splash of cool water.

As she chops the carrots into bite-sized pieces, Clarke laughs at the small commotion that has been unravelling before her eyes for the past five minutes. She has never seen Lexa give up at anything – not when she tried to learn how to sew, and certainly not when she wanted to win her affection back after abandoning her at Mt. Weather (the past is the past, let us move on). To think that of all the things and monsters that she has faced, Heda is bested by an onion.

“Are you crying, Lexa?”

“No. It’s the onions.”

With the lasts of the ingredients added into the liquid mixture, the sweet smell of chicken fills the walls of their makeshift kitchen. After an excruciating five hours and forty-two minutes, a bowl of warm soup sits in the hands of Aden, pieces of onions and carrots floating in the yellow sea. Under the watchful eye of Lexa, the sick boy gingerly sips at his meal, one spoon at a time, until not a single droplet nor a piece of chicken is left. Only then does his mentor leave the room with an empty bowl and a triumphant glint in her eyes. (Clarke swears seeing her skip just a little.)

“Thank you for helping me today.” Lexa says, flashing a soft smile and placing a kiss on Clarke’s lips. “I will tell my men to put Wilbur at the stables.”

“Am I not going home tonight?”

“Nobody should be travelling at this hour of the night,” As she walks towards the door, the Commander turns her head just until her gaze falls on the blonde. “Besides, a proper thank-you is in place.”

A little jolt in her stomach reminds Clarke that she is still in reality. She watches Lexa leave with a smirk hanging on her face, one that she is determined to wipe off as soon as she reaches the bedroom. Although wanting to leave right this moment, the hunger pains gnawing at her insides is enough to convince her to stay for at least a generous serving of soup. She brings a spoonful to her lips; as soon as she swallows it, the hot liquid warming her oesophagus as it travels down into her stomach, she gags unattractively and drops the spoon.

Chicken soup should _not_ taste sweet.

It is only then that Clarke realises Lexa had added sugar instead of salt, and that she had failed to warn her which should be added into a cauldron of chicken soup and which to avoid. Despite having only drunken a small volume of soup, the blonde is almost sure diabetes will come knocking on her door the next morning. Then, her face pales.

Oh, poor Aden.

At least now Clarke knows there is someone who loves Lexa just as much as she does. Perhaps even more.

**Author's Note:**

> "Ai na fis em op." -- I will heal him.


End file.
